Not at Home
by MagicFireTiger
Summary: Sup. I'm Maddi. Last night I had two friends come over for my thirteenth birthday party. We started watching Tangled. And now I'm in the middle of that same movie, going on the craziest adventure ever. I have three problems: 1.) Help Rapunzel and Eugene through their story; 2.) Get back Zellie and Kat's friendship; 3.) Get back home. Read my story if you like. It'll be worth it.
1. Chapter 1: And So it All Begins

**A/N: Hey, guys, hi. So here is this story for you to read. One thing I'd like to say is that it is sort of based off of a story by Krypie called "Journey to Another Dimension." Feel free to check it out, along with my other stories—I've recently accumulated a lot of them. Hehehe . . . anyway, a bunch of these characters and such in this story are based off of my own life and the people I know. I'm not putting their actual names, but variations of thme and also what might have been (in the case of my sisters). This first chapter just sort of introduces the problem, nothing much about "Tangled" in it yet. Anyway, enough of my babbling, read on! Reviews, favorites, and follows are much appreciated! :D**

 **DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN "TANGLED." NOTHING FROM IT IS MINE. ONLY THE MAIN CHARACTER, MADDI, AND OTHER CHARACTERS ARE MINE. MADDI IS BASED OFF OF ME. NOT "TANGLED." ENJOY!**

CHAPTER ONE

AND SO IT ALL BEGINS

 _Maddi_

Tonight, either everything will be perfect, or it will all blow up in my face. You're probably curious as to why that is. So I shall tell you. Tonight is my thirteenth birthday party—a sleepover. I'm having a bunch of my friends over, including my two best friends. The last two and I are going to be watching my favorite movie of all time—"Tangled"—once everyone else leaves. So, you're probably thinking, "Oh, what could be so bad about that?" Yeah, that's not quite the case.

Well, the thing is, my two best friends . . . they're kind of rocky right now. A little while ago, at another friend's birthday party, one of my friends, Zellie, kind of got offended by the other three of us . . . and she hasn't quite forgiven my other friend who's coming over, Kat (short for Katherine, a name she absolutely hates). Things are pretty much the same between us now (mostly), and our other friend, but not so much Kat, so . . . yeah.

I thought that maybe tonight we could figure things out tonight, maybe over one of our favorite movies . . . but now I'm not quite so sure this was the best idea. Actually, neither of them actually knows that the other is coming . . . no, that's a lie, Kat knows, but Zellie doesn't. So yeah. Hehe.

Anyway, right now I am sitting on my family's sofa, staring at the blank T.V. screen. A book lies next to me, face down. It has been two minutes since my party "officially" started—5:00. Zellie and Kat should be coming any minute now. I am agitated. I want to read my book, but I also don't want to. It's weird. My mind is weird. My mind is crazy.

 _Ding-dong!_

 _Yap, yap!_

Holy chocolate! Someone's here!

I stand up quickly. My head goes dizzy. I close my eyes, pulling my two dark-copper braids neatly onto my chest. I shove my glasses up the bridge of my blackhead-covered, upturned nose before taking a deep breath, opening my eyes, and walking over to the door.

"Who's here?" yells the voice of one of my two younger sisters. She runs down the stairs and into the front hallway, up to the door. Her bob of dark auburn hair sways above her shoulders as she squishes her face to the glass in the door.

"No idea. Watch out, Brooky-lynn," I say, sliding over to her in my "Frozen" themed socks—Anna on one foot, Elsa on the other. I mixed them with the other pairs. I put them on certain feet so that they seem like they look at each other. Oh, "Brooky-lynn" is not my youngest sister's name in actuality (it's really Brooklynn), but I like calling her that.

"Is it Charlie?" My other sister comes running down the stairs, like Brooklynn, referring to the younger sister of Kat and her (Emma's) best friend. Charlie is short for Charlotte, which suits Charlie but I don't think she really likes it—similar to Kat and Katherine. She looks at the door, long, brown hair hanging down her back.

"I am as clueless as you," I say.

"I think it's Zellie!" exclaims Brooklynn, peeking into the glass in the front door.

"Please move and I'll see," I say, joking seriously—if that makes sense. It's just something I do. She moves to the side and I take her place in front of the handle. I feel our pet dog, Max, rub against my feet. He's a tiny, black-and-white (but mostly black) shi-htzu that is the absolutely craziest and most adorable, short-haired shi-htzu dog that has ever come into existence. I unlock the door and open it.

Brooklynn is right. It is Zellie. She smiles as I unlock and open the screen door. I slide away on my socks as she, her mom, two younger sisters, and younger brother step inside.

"Hi, Maddi!" she says excitedly. "Where can I put this?" she adds, holding up a turquoise envelope. I assume there is money inside (that's what I asked for for this birthday).

"Right here," I say, pointing to my mom's old hope chest, covered with a teal, fancily designed cloth.

"Great," she says. She sets the card down there, next to an owl-covered present bag. Inside it is a gift from Emma. "Hi, Maxie!" She bends down and scratches Max on the head. He responds enthusiastically, wagging his tail like crazy and licking her before hurriedly moving on to the next person, before coming back to her, and then, because I call to him, he comes to me, and everything is rather crazy now. He then runs off after Zellie's mom, who enters the living room with the younger girls and boy (Zellie's younger siblings and my younger sisters). My mom comes out of the hallway soon after.

I grin suddenly—a mischievous grin I often give when I have some extreme silliness in store for someone. Or maybe nothing much except me being crazy. "Come on. This way." I grab her hand and pull Zellie along behind me, through the hallway and into my bedroom. I sit down on my purple bed, and she sits down next to me. Our heights even up drastically—Zellie is rather a lot taller than me. She has medium-length, dark brown hair that holds a pretty shine to it. Her face is littered with freckles, and she has one of the best smiles in the world.

"Hi," I say, still grinning.

"Hi," she says back, giving me a similar grin. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks!" I exclaim. "Now I have entered the year of unluckiness that is the thirteenth year of my life." I put my hand dramatically over my heart.

She laughs. "Yeah," she says. Her voice is a little deeper than mine—I think. I can't really tell with voices. But it's pretty.

"And you shall be joining me in District 13 next month," I say, waggling my fingers up in front of her face, also referring to The Hunger Games, something I am an extreme fan of.

She laughs again. "Yeah. It's crazy, right?"

"Yeeeeees!" I say, leaning in close to her and continuing to waggle my fingers in front of her, giving her a fake creepy face, widening my eyes and acting like I always do when I am extremely excited—or nervous—or both.

Things go pretty much like this for a little while, until it is 6:15 according to my alarm clock on the vanity at the end of my bed in my rather small but extremely Harry Potter themed room. And then the doorbell rings again and I suddenly tense before relaxing again. I do not want to look frantic. Besides, it's best just to hope for the best . . . you know? Plus . . . there are other guests besides just Zellie and Kat . . . it could be one of them. . . .

"Who else is coming?" Zellie asks, standing up next to me. I hadn't realized I'd just stood up myself.

I shake my head to clear it. "You'll see," I say mysteriously, before pulling her hand and stepping into the hallway, and then to the front door. Max is again barking like crazy.

I take a deep breath before preparing to open the door, hearing the others walk behind me. I brace myself. Now or never. . . .

Kat and her younger sisters (both Brooklynn and Emma's ages) and mom are at the front door. Kat looks rather a lot like me. She has the same color hair as me, though maybe a bit lighter by a fraction of a shade, and brown eyes. She also wears glasses. She dances, so she's also really flexible, unlike I, who swims on a competitive swim team. We often argue about which sport is harder. It's rather . . . just rather. Yup, just rather. I grin when I see her, and open the door to let them in. That's when I hear the angry voice behind me.

"Katherine?!"


	2. Chapter 2: Not at Home

**A/N: Thank you for the two follows and one review! :) Those of you who are sticking with this story are AWESOME! Please, do review and tell me what you think! I would be very, very grateful! :D :P Anyways, I hope you like this next chapter. :) By the way, from here on out there'll be a lot of dialogue from "Tangled," and actually, as I was writing this, I watched the movie, so I should be getting a lot more of it correct than I might. :P Anyways, enjoy! :D**

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

NOT AT HOME

 _Maddi_

Okay. So maaaaybe I should have prepared myself a bit more for what was to come. Ah, well, now these two are both here . . . at least that obstacle has been completed. Wait a sec, Zellie just called Kat Katherine. She _hates_ that name. Must have something to do with what happened. . . .

"Maddi!" comes an angry voice from behind me.

I wheel around. "Yes?" I say. My voice comes out kind of squeaky. Wow. I didn't know it could get like that.

"Why didn't you tell me that—that you—that you invited— _her_?!" Zellie practically spits out.

"Well . . ." I say uncomfortably. "I was sort of thinking that . . . that maybe you could sort of, like, figure things out, you know. . . ."

I can tell that Zellie is trying to keep things under control. Her face is going red.

"But—but—" she splutters.

"Why don't you both come with me," I say. Kat's mom has started up a conversation with Zellie's and my moms, though I think they've all noticed the hostility coming from Zellie. Actually, they all knew about this attempt to bring the friendship back together. None of them are planning on interfering unless things get ugly. All our younger siblings seem to have run away. Either that, or they disappeared completely into nonbeing, which I highly doubt possible.

I pull both of my friends into my room. It's Harry Potter themed—the walls are a sort of dark purple-and-slightly-blue color, with silver swirls covering them. I have a desk, where my laptop sits, and them my bed, like I said earlier, is purple, but a dark purple. My room would be teal if I wasn't so committed to being a Harry Potter fan. I sit down on my bed, but they both stay standing. I decide to stand up as well—best to confront an angry Zellie when we're a little more equal in height.

"Yes, well . . ." I say. "So. Hi."

Kat has stayed silent throughout this whole time. Now she speaks. "Yeah. Hi, Zellie," she says gravely.

Zellie stays silent, but her face is tomato-red. I have a feeling all she wants to do right now is run away and hide somewhere. That's sort of what I want to do right now, anyway.

"So . . ." I say awkwardly. "Other people should be coming soon. Pizza's on its way. We have the donut cake."

My efforts to make proper conversation are futile. Zellie stays silent.

Kat speaks again. "Okay."

Zellie doesn't speak.

"'Kay," I say. I lead them out into the dining room. Soon enough, a few more people come, and Zellie sort of goes off with Lane, my aforementioned friend. And so we sit through a sort of awkward dinner of pizza, soda, and Junior Mints. Then we have a donut cake and then presents. And finally is the time for the movie. Everyone but Zellie and Kat have left. So far, everything has been kind of okay . . . the world hasn't exploded, at least.

"Okay! Movie time!" I say enthusiastically. They both set up their pillows and blankets on the couch and two things I honestly can't remember the name of—they kind of resemble coffee tables, but all cushiony. They have compartments underneath the top, where we store blankets. I notice that Zellie stays on the end with the couch extending out to the other side next to a wall separating the living room from the kitchen—as far away from Kat as possible—who is on the other end, at the edge of the couch.

I, too, swiftly set up my things before popping in the movie. My sisters are going to be in their own rooms with Kat's younger sisters, watching movies of their own on their Kindles or my dad's or even my own laptop and doing who knows what else. I grab the remote and settle down in between my two friends, who are both staring at the movie screen in silence.

"Okay!" I say again. "Let's get this started! Tangled—here we come!" I giggle uncertainly—rather like Rapunzel, I guess. Then I get an idea.

"Max! Maaaaaxie! Maaaaaaaaaaaximuuuuuuus!" I yell throughout the dark house (it is now after sunset and all the lights are off except for the hall light—that's how I like it when I watch stuff at night).

I hear the jingling of the dog's collar as he runs down the stairs and into the living room.

"Hi, Maxie!" I exclaim. "Come here, puppy!" I pat the blanket I'm sitting on. He jumps up next to me and settles down on my right side. Zellie scratches him, and so do I.

"Okay. Now that we've got one of the most important characters, we can start!" I say, and then I begin the movie.

Okay, so the movie doesn't actually start right now—all of the stinky commercials have to make their run first. And _then_ the movie starts.

I feel excitement surge through me as I see the screen zoom in on the picture of "Flynn Rider," a.k.a. Eugene Fitzherbert, on a "Wanted" poster stuck onto a tree. And then I hear the most amazing voice in the world . . . almost.

" _This is the story of how I died. Oh, don't worry, this is actually a very fun story, and the truth is, it isn't even mine. This is the story of a girl named Rapunzel. And it started with the sun."_

Okay. I am starting to go a little crazy. Which is a rather enormous understatement. . . .

" _Once upon a time, a drop of golden sun fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of sun, there grew a magic golden flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured. Oh, you see that old woman over there? You might want to remember her, she's kind of important."_

(Mother Gothel is appearing, as you can probably guess.)

" _Well, centuries passed, and a hop, skip, and a boat ride away, there grew a kingdom. The kingdom was ruled by a beloved king and queen. And the queen . . . well, she was about to have a baby. And she grew sick—really sick._

" _She was running out of time, and that's when people usually start to look for a miracle—or, in this case, a magic, golden flower."_

Mother Gothel reappears on the screen.

" _Ah. I told you she'd be important. You see, instead of sharing the sun's gift, this woman, Mother Gothel, hoarded its healing powers and used it to keep herself young for hundreds of years. And all she had to do was sing a special song."_

Gothel then sings the special healing song. Her hair turns from gray to black, skin, white to peach.

" _All right, you get the jest. She sings to it and turns young, creepy, right?_

" _The magic of the golden flower healed the queen. A healthy baby girl—a princess—was born, with beautiful, golden hair. I'll give you a hint—that's Rapunzel._

" _To celebrate her birth, the kind and queen launched a flying lantern into the sky. For that one moment, everything was perfect._

" _And then that moment ended._

" _That night, Gothel broke into the castle and stole the child, just like that—gone._

" _The kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the princess. For deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Gothel raised the child as her own._

" _Gothel had found her new magic flower—but this time, she was determined to keep it hidden."_

" _Why can't I go outside?" asks an adorable Rapunzel as Mother Gothel gently brushes her hair in front of a lit fireplace._

" _The outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people," says Gothel. "You must stay here, where you're safe. Do you understand, Flower?"_

" _Yes, Mommy."_

" _But the walls of that tower could not hide everything," continues Eugene's voice. "Each year on her birthday, the king and queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky, the hope that on day, their lost princess would return."_

I sigh as I watch the movie unfolding before me. If only things were really as simple as this. . . .

I lean back in my seat, stretching my arms into a tight streamline (or "closed Superman arms," if you aren't familiar with swimmer terms) position. Things are going okay, I guess. . . .

In the movie, daytime is coming, and the title of "Tangled" appears on the screen, just like it's supposed to. . . .

Just like it's—supposed to—

My head is starting to feel dizzy. The screen in front of me is getting blurry, as though I have taken my glasses off.

"I feel—weird," I say sleepily.

I hear Kat shriek next to me. "Maddi!"

I try to turn my head to look at her, but I can't. It's like I can't move anything . . . everything is all numb. . . .

"Maddi! Zellie, pause the movie! Something's wrong!" exclaims Kat, jerking out of her seat. "Maddi!"

I feel myself jerking everywhere. It's weird—now it hurts—it's scary. I'm panicking, but it's like I can't do anything . . . everything is going even fuzzier. . .

"Maddi!" shouts Kat. "Zellie, she's all glitchy! What's wrong with her?!"

I think Zellie is staring at me, not moving in her seat . . . I think . . . everything is going insane. . . .

Am I dying?

"Maddi!" I hear both of them shout at the exact same time, before all goes black.

* * *

I slowly blink my eyes open, and the first thing I see is white. All white. What is going on? Am I dead? Is this heaven?

I wonder if I can move. I assume I can, since I opened my eyes. I sit up and look around.

I am in a small white room, laying on the floor next to a small, circular, wooden table. I stand up. My legs feel like jelly, as though I have just gotten home from a really difficult and tiring swim practice, but I stand up all the same. I look down at the table. On it is a piece of paper with writing on it. I pick it up and read:

 _Maddi, you are about to go on an adventure that will change the course of your life—and others'. Zellie and Katherine will join you eventually, but not before you have started the challenges that await you._

 _Be prepared. Your journey has just begun. Within the next few days, you will have the chance to solve two problems. Choose wisely of what you do. Eventually, you will have to reveal yourself to those you meet—but not until you know the time is right—not until the events that are to take place are over. You must go through these events, from the moment you arrive, to the moment you leave._

 _Good luck,_

 _The Writer_

What? What is all this about? Who is this "writer"? I take a deep breath and scratch an itch on my nose. I close my eyes. What is going on?

Whatever it is, I am about to find out.

I feel the floor fall from underneath me. I cry out in surprise—even though I was sort of expecting something like that to happen. I open my eyes for a split second and see the white room flash in front of me before blackness envelopes the world once more.


	3. Chapter 3: The Story Begins

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! :) And in reply to one certain review, I honestly don't exactly know how I figured out the title. It sort of just came to me in a random way—because I needed a title. And this was what I thought of. *shrugs* Anyways, so this chapter is split into three different perspectives—none of them Maddi's, conveniently. *evil laughter* Enjoy! :D**

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

THE STORY BEGINS

 _Rapunzel_

I feel myself slipping into consciousness. A luscious, fresh scent, the same one that greets me every morning, flows through the air and towards my face. I open my eyes and turn to my side. Pascal slumbers beside me. He is so adorable when he sleeps! Suddenly, I get a grand idea.

"Pascal," I say, poking at the chameleon.

He stirs and blinks his eyes open. He yawns and chirps, _Good morning, Rapunzel!_

"Good morning, Pascal," I say to the chameleon. "Wanna play some hide and seek?"

He brightens up, completely awake.

Then we begin. At around the fourty-fourth round, I am it. I shove the windows to my tower open with a loud, "Ha!"

I pull my hair back, out of my face, and say to "no one in particular", "Hmm. Well, I guess Pascal's not hiding out here. . . ." I start to walk away and hear the faintest sound—a chameleon's chuckle of success.

I instantly grab his tail with the tip of my long, blond, extremely thick hair. He gives a squeak of surprise as he hangs upside down in front of me, who is successful at my catch. He pants, trying to calm himself down and turns form colors resembling one of my flower pots out on the ledge back to his bright green colors.

"That's twenty-two for me," I say, pulling him back down onto the ledge, letting him out of it and flicking my hair back briefly. "How about twenty-three out of forty-five?" I put my hands on my hips and look at him expectantly.

Pascal glowers at me.

"Okay, well, what do you wanna do?" I ask skeptically, sitting down on the ledge.

Pascal brightens up and points his tail out, down below . . . down below my tower—a place I'd only been as a baby.

"Yeah," I say, pulling him up onto my leg with my finger (not my hair), "I don't think so. I like it in here, and so do you." I point at the chameleon.

He gives me a look and also sticks his tongue out at me for a split second.

"Oh, come on, Pascal, it's not so bad in there," I say, pulling him into my hands and swinging my legs back into the tower. I run around the room and jump onto the beams holding up the roof before pulling up the tip of the ceiling to bring more light into the room and sliding down my hair, onto the floor beside a clock. And then I begin to sing.

 _"Seven a.m., the usual morning line-up,_

 _"Start on the chores and sweep 'til the floor's all clean!_

 _"Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and shine up—_

 _"Sweep again and by then, it's, like, seven fifteen._

 _"And so I'll read a book, or maybe two or three,_

 _"I'll add a few new paintings to my gallery!_

 _"I'll play guitar, and knit, and cook, and basically,_

" _Just wonder when will my life begin?"_

Holding a pie in my hands, I notice a blank stretch of wall hidden by two curtains and what looks almost like a shield (honestly, I don't remember what Mother calls it). I pull the "shield" aside and begin to paint.

" _Then after lunch, it's puzzles and darts and baking—_

" _Paper mache, a bit of ballet and chess!_

" _Pottery and ventriloquy, candle-making,_

" _Then I'll stretch,_

" _Maybe sketch,_

" _Take a climb—_

" _Sew a dress!_

" _And I'll re-read the books, if I have time to spare,_

" _I'll paint the walls some more; I'm sure there's room somewhere._

" _And then I'll brush and brush and brush and brush my hair,_

" _Stuck in the same place I've always been._

" _And I'll keep wondering,_

" _And wondering,_

" _And wondering,_

" _And wondering,_

" _When will my life begin?_

" _And tomorrow night,_

" _The lights will appear—_

" _Just like they do on my birthday each year._

" _What is it like out there where they glow?_

" _Now that I'm older, Mother might just let me go. . . ."_

I sigh as I look at my now finished painting—one where I am sitting up in a tree, watching the floating lights that appear in the sky on each and every one of my birthdays. . . .

Maybe this year will be different. Maybe Mother will _finally_ let me go.

* * *

 _Eugene (a.k.a. Flynn Rider)_

As I climb atop the high rooftop of the castle of Corona, I feel adrenaline coursing within me. Today, I find my prize. My golden apple. My key to the castle. Today, I will be stealing a crown.

I leap from roof to roof of the castle, the Stabbington brothers—two large, hulking, red-haired and very scarred men who are also known as my fellow thieves—follow close behind me. Palace guards strut across the grounds below us, not knowing that we are about to make an extreme heist.

I stop suddenly and look out at the magnificent view before me.

"Wow," I say in astonishment. "I could get used to a view like this."

"Rider," says the voice of one of the Stabbingtons behind me—the only one who talks, "come on."

"Hold on," I say, not looking behind me, "Yup, I'm used to it." I put my hands to my hips, still looking out below me. "Guys, I want a castle."

"We do this job," comes the voice of Sideburns (the one who talks) from behind me. "You can buy your own castle."

I feel myself being pulled back by my collar, my smug look being wiped off my face momentarily.

Soon enough, a rope is tied around my waist, and I am being lowered into the throne room of the castle. Below me sits my prize, sitting on a purple cushion raised above the ground.

The crown is in my fingers. One of the guards—well, _guarding_ the crown (from what? The only danger to the crown is up—above me—those Stabbington brothers—whom I intend to double-cross and take the crown from anyway) sneezes.

"Oh," I say sympathetically, my hand on the purple cushion, "hay fever?"

"Yeah," says the guard.

"Huh? Wait! Hey, wait!"

But I am already up on the rooftop.

"Can't you picture me in a castle of my own, 'cause I certainly can," I say, as I and Sideburns and Eyepatch (the other one) run down the bridge from the kingdom to the forest, having narrowly (yes, narrowly—I know, Flynn Rider escapes should not be narrow. They should be smooth as silk—or the jewels on the crown now carried in my precious satchel). "All the things we've seen, and it's only eight in the morning! Gentlemen, this is a very big day!"

* * *

 _Kat_

Oh. My. Gosh. Right before my eyes, my best friend in the world is glitching like crazy, like she's having a seizure—I think. I've never actually seen someone have a seizure, but it's probably around the same thing as to what's happening to Maddi!

"Zellie, we have to do something!" I exclaim. I can't tear my eyes away from Maddi, in case something bad happens—well, worse than what's already happening.

But she's frozen in her seat, just staring at Maddi.

"What do we do?!" I shriek.

Suddenly, I quiet. I hear thumps. It's probably just me and Maddi's younger siblings running around the place, but I'm not sure. . . .This house isn't very large, and noise travels quickly, as I've learned. Should we tell Mrs. DotCom about this? (That's Maddi's mom.) Probably. But I've never seen anything like this before. What in the world should I do?!

The movie is still playing—contrary to what I would like. Zellie didn't pause it. I briefly look away from Maddi and at the screen, and I yelp, because I see something that shouldn't be there.

Maddi is on the screen, and Mother Gothel is walking away from her. And Maddi's _cartooned_! She's wearing the same clothes as the glitching girl in front of me (who hasn't yet changed into her pajamas). Her golden-brown braids are a little thicker. Her head is a lot huger. Her stomach is smoother, thinner in her red shirt. Her blue eyes are enormous. She looks like a Disney Princess.

"Maddi!" I scream. I run at the T.V. Maddi is walking—where to, I don't know. "Maddi!" I scream again, as if she'll be able to hear me in the T.V. She doesn't respond. I run over to the Maddi on the couch and put my fingers to her neck. She's stopped glitching so much. She's breathing normally. Her heart is pumping. She's alive.

"Zellie, she's—" I start.

"She's in the movie," Zellie says weakly.

She is right.

Maddi is in the movie.


	4. Chapter 4: Mother Knows Best

**A/N: Hello, fellow fanfictioners. Sorry about the slight delay. All right . . . now, in response to a certain Anonymous's review: Okay . . . again, I did not take your friend's story title. It's possible I may have come across at some point, but if I did, it was a long time ago and I don't remember it—if the story is even up on this website. I do not even know what friend you are referring to. If you really want me to, I can change the title. I'm really sorry you think I stole it. I understand that stealing story titles is not cool. It's not nice at all.**

 **Anyways, enjoy. (This chapter just focuses on one scene in "Tangled." Nothing new. Just so you know. But there will be new stuff soon.)**

 **Also. . . .**

 **Yesterday was my birthday! Ta-da! :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

MOTHER KNOWS BEST

 _Rapunzel_

I let out a deep breath as I pack away my cups and jars of paint, Pascal sitting on the edge of my supplies chest with two paintbrushes curled up in his tail.

"This is it!" I say breathlessly. Pascal climbs onto my arm. "This is a very big day, Pascal," I continue, closing the chest covered with paintings and sitting up straight on the ground. I giggle. "I'm _finally_ gonna do it. I'm gonna ask her!"

Pascal climbs up onto my shoulder as I hear the familiar voice of my mother calling from below the tower.

"Rapunzel!"

I gasp in mixed nervousness and excitement.

"Let down your ha-air!" sings Mother.

"It's time!" I say to Pascal, my mouth spreading into an enormous grin.

Pascal grins, too, and sits up straight in a determined position. _We can do this_ is what is expression seems to say.

"I know, I know," I say, "come on, don't let her see you." He crawls onto my arm and transfers to the tree on my latest painting. I close the pink curtaiins almost all the way, so that Pascal can see what happens next. He changes his skin color to match that of the tree. To tell you the truth, Mother doesn't even now I have him. I found him crawling around the top of the tower years ago and we instantly became best friends. When I showed him to Mother, she seemed disgusted and told me to throw him out of the window. I had to let him go, but then he just kept coming back, and now he lives up here with me.

"Rapunzel? I'm not getting any younger down here!" says Mother from below the tower. She often leaves to get food and the occasional book and clothing, sometimes overnight. So it's usually just Pascal and me. But now she's back—and I'm finally going to ask her the thing that I've wanted to ask her about so badly for years and years and years.

I hurry over to the window and call, "Coming, Mother!" I then loop my hair over a hook above the window before tossing it out, feeding it out of the tower and down to the cloaked figure of my mother below. I feel something pull on it (Mother), and start pulling it up towards the window at the top of the tower. It takes a little while, but I manage it. She's surprisingly heavy, but I've gotten stronger since my hair was long enough to start doing this a couple years ago.

I'm breathing hard by the time she's at the window. "Hi," I say breathlessly. "Welcome home, Mother."

Mother pulls back the hood of her dark cloak, fluffing out her dark, very curly, very poofy hair, streaked with bits of gray. She wears a maroon dress that reminds me of pictures I've seen in one of her old books. It's really, really old; it looks older than her even, but I haven't really thought about it much, I suppose.

"Oh," she gasps dramatically, "Rapunzel, how you manage to do that _every single day_ without fail!" She strokes my face as I smile satisfactorily at her. "It looks absolutely exhausting, darling."

I notice the lines under her eyes as I say, "Oh . . . ehe . . . it's nothing."

"Then I don't know why it takes so long!" says Mother, tapping my nose with her finger.

My face falls. Sometimes . . . she can be like that . . . but. . . .

She starts laughing immediately. "Ooh, darling, I'm just teasing."

I give an uncertain giggle as she walks over to the mirror. "All right—so, Mother," I say, walking over to her as she carelessly tosses her cloak aside and starts looking at herself in the mirror, "as you know, tomorrow is a very big day—"

"Rapunzel, look in that mirror," Mother interrupts, pulling me closer to her and the mirror. "You know what I see? I see a strong, confident, _beautiful_ young lady."

I smile. Mother rarely gives me compliments that are serious to me, but I appreciate them all the same. "Hmm," I say happily.

But my heart sinks as she says, "Oh, look, you're here, too." She laughs hysterically as she continues, "I'm just teasing. Stop taking everything so seriously." She takes a deep breath and lets it out as though she's still laughing.

"Okay," I say, as she inspects herself deeply in the mirror, "so, Mother, as I was saying, tomorrow is—"

"Rapunzel," Mother interrupts again, "Mother's feeling a little run down. Would you sing for me, dear? Then we'll talk."

"Oh! Of course, Mother." I instantly run and set a large, fancy chair in the center of the room, a three-legged stool in front of it, and hurry to grab a brush before I sit down in front of Mother and hand her the brush and a bit of hair, surrounded by a long line of the rest of the golden stuff.

I then start to sing as fast as possible, eyes closed as I feel a sudden warmth seem to wash through me. And though I cannot see it, I know that my hair begins to glow.

" _Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, bring back what once was mine—"_ breath _"—Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design, save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine!"_

"Oh!" gasps Mother. "Rapunzel!" she continues in a reprimanding tone of voice.

I leap over to her and lean my face in really close, barely noticing that the gray hairs have become darker and the face less lined. Though it's odd, I'm used to it. She backs away slightly. "So, Mother, I was saying tomorrow's a _pretty_ big day and you didn't really respond, so I'm just gonna tell you—it's my birthday! Tada!" I grab onto her shoulder excitedly.

Mother gently pushes me away and says, "No, no, no, can't be. I distinctly remember—your birthday was last year."

"That's the funny thing about birthdays! They're—kind of an annual thing," I say brightly.

Mother blinks at me.

I pull away and sit down on the stool.

"Mother, I'm turning eighteen, and, I wanted to ask. . . . Ooh, what I really want for this birthday—actually, what I've wanted for quite a few birthdays. . . ." I start playing with my hair nervously.

"Okay, okay, Rapunzel, please, _stop_ with the mumbling. You know how I feel about the mumbling. Blah, blah blah, blah blah, it's _very_ annoying—I'm just teasing—" she pinches my cheek "—you're adorable, I love you so much, darling, ah." She walks away. I stare after her, crestfallen.

Suddenly, I hear the familiar chirping of Pascal. I look over at him. He pushes on at me with his paw.

"I wanna see the floating lights!" I burst out excitedly.

Mother pulls out an apple from one of her baskets she brought up with her and laughs as though I'd been kidding or something. "What?" she says, and—I think—I think she's _smirking_ at me.

"Oh," I say in a small voice. I climb up onto a tall stool before the fireplace—and my painting. "Well, I was hoping you would take me to _see_ the floating lights." I pull back the curtains covering the painting of my seeing them.

"Oh! You mean the stars," says Mother sweetly. She reaches for one of the baskets again.

"That's the thing!" I say. I grab a strand of my hair and pull back a little door high in the ceiling, which opens to let in light that reveals a painting I did of my tower, surrounded by the phases of the moon, suns, and stars. "I've charted stars, and they're _always_ constant. But these—they appear _every_ year on my birthday, Mother, _only_ on my birthday. And I can't help but _feel_ that they're— _meant_ for me!

"I need to _see_ them, Mother," I insist as she walks away uninterestedly, "and not just from my window—in _person_. I need to _know_ what they are."

"You want to go out _side_?" Mother asks incredulously. She scoffs. "Why, Rapunzel." She shuts the wooden window doors with a smirk on her face.

" _Look at you, as fragile as a flower,"_ she sings, coming over to me and taking my hands, swinging around a bit.

" _Still a little sapling, just a sprout."_ She pats my head.

" _You know why we stay up in this tower!"_

"I know, but—"

" _That's right! To keep you safe and sound here. . . ."_ She takes my hair and strokes it. What is she _doing_?

" _Yes, I always knew this day was coming—"_

She closes the curtains behind her dramatically. Now there's barely any light left in here.

" _Knew you soon would want to leave the nest!_

" _Soon, but not yet—"_

"But—" I protest. Mother puts a finger to my lips from a few stairs above me.

" _Trust me,_ pet _—_

" _Motheeeeeer!—knows best!"_

She hits a banister with her hip, somehow causing the hook holding the little door open to close it. Darkness falls over my rather confused face.

I light a candle as she continues,

" _Mother knows best,_

" _Listen to your mother,_

" _It's a scary world out theeeeere. . . ."_

She jumps out at me and I yell out before she disappears and I feel something pulling on my hair.

" _Mother knows best,_

" _One way or another,_

" _Something will go wrong—I sweeeear!"_

I pull on my hair and the pull on it loosens. I fall back before strong—I suppose—arms catch me.

" _Ruffians, thugs! Poison ivy, quicksand!_

" _Cannibals and snakes, the plague."_

"No—" I shout.

"Yes!" she continues.

" _Also, large bugs,_

" _Men with pointy teeth—"_

A red painting of—well—a man—well, a face—with pointy teeth is painted by her on the floor.

"And stop, no more, you'll just upset me!" she sings in a whining voice.

I wrap myself up with my hair and huddle before the single candle. This is getting really freaky now. . . .

" _Mother's right here—"_

She pulls me out of my bundle, wearing her cloak. She pats my hand reassuringly.

" _Darling, here's what I suggeeeeest!"_

I reach over to hug her and pull back to find that I'm hugging a mannequin wearing Mother's cloak! How is that even possible?!

I look over. Mother is walking down the stairs, now lined with lit candles.

" _Skip the drama!_

" _Stay with Mama._

" _Mooooootheeeeeeeeer!—knows best!_

" _Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"_

She sweeps her cloak around the candles, and everything is dark again. I start lighting some candles as she continues.

" _Mother knows best,_

" _Take it from your Mumzy._

" _On your own, you won't survive,"_ she sings creepily. I turn around, the candles now unlit thanks to her, and face the mirror. Fingers creep over the edge and my eyes go wide. Her face pops up. I feel a small wave of relief before she continues—and the relief is dashed instantly.

" _Sloppy, underdressed,_

" _Immature, clumsy._

" _Please—they'll eat you up aliiiiiiive!"_

And she rolls me up in my own hair.

" _Gullible, naïve,_

" _Positively grumpy!"_

She unrolls me.

" _Positively grumpy!_

" _Did say, um, a bit, well, hmm, vague!_

" _Plus, I believe—you're getting kind of chubby—_

 _"I'm just saying 'cause I wuv you!"_

She grabs my face and pulls me over to her. My cheeks feel squished.

" _Mother understands!"_

Suddenly, everything goes dark. I cry out in shock.

" _Mother's here to help you!_

" _All I have is one requeeeeeeeeeeeest!"_

And suddenly light covers her. I gasp in relief as I run over to her, normal, without her cloak, without her green lamp, without her red-covered paintbrush. Just . . . her. And I engulf her in the tightest hug ever, because whatever you may think about her, she is my mother, and I love her ever so much, because she will _always_ be there for me. I can promise you that.

She hugs me back, stroking my hair. My eyes are closed.

"Rapunzel?" Mother asks.

I open my eyes and pull back from her. "Yes?"

She looks down at me with her heavily lidded eyes, and suddenly, I feel a tiny bit of dread.

"Don't ever ask to leave this tower again," she says darkly.

My face falls. Not looking at her, I say hopelessly, "Yes, Mother."

She tisks. "I love you _very_ much, dear," she says gently.

"I love you more," I say.

"I love you most." Mother strokes my hair again and pulls my head a little bit towards her before kissing me on my head.

" _Don't forget it,"_ she sings suddenly, tapping my nose, and then my head.

" _You'll reeegreeet it. . . ._

" _Motheeeer!—knows best!"_

She backs away from me, pulling strands of my hair as she goes. She lets go of them and they fall sadly to my sides once more. I look down just as sadly and can barely hold back the tears, but hold them back I do. Mother does know best, I suppose . . . as I've just been taught very thoroughly.

"Ta-ta!" Mother calls. She is sliding down my hair again, basket on arm, cloak on body. "I'll see you in a bit, my Flower."

"I'll be here," I say softly. I take my hair from the hook as she walks away, letting it sway in the wind far down below.

 _Oh, please, Mother, tell me . . . when will my life begin?_


	5. Chapter 5: The Chase

**A/N: Hi. Sorry about the lack of updates recently. Things got busy. Thanks for the reviews and such. :) Also, in case you were wondering, everything to do with the title has been cleared up. Everything's good with Anonymous. Just so you know. Oh, you probably noticed that the title was changed. Yup.**

 **Anyways, things will start getting more interesting soon—just so you know. Anyways, enjoy! :)**

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CHAPTER FIVE

THE CHASE

 _Eugene (a.k.a. Flynn Rider)_

I've been running for several minutes, when finally, I can't go any farther. I stop, panting against a large, gray-trunked tree, leaning forward, my hand held protectively over my satchel.

I look back to see if any of the Royal Guard is close behind, and I breathe out a sigh of relief as I realize they are not. I look up, and then I notice something very, very bad.

I gasp and yank the "Wanted" poster (right above one of Sideburns and Eyepatch) off the tree.

"No, no. No, no, no, no, this is bad, this is very, very bad, this is _really_ bad—" I turn the poster over for Sideburns and Eyepatch to see.

"They just can't get my nose right!"

They stand up from their own panting positions.

"Who cares?" Sideburns asks gruffly, sneering at me. _Sneering!_

"Well, it's easy for you to say," I say in annoyance, bending down to look at the Stabbingtons' poster. "You guys look amazing!" I add enviously.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of a horse's neigh. I turn around, and—yep, that's the Royal Guard, stopping at the top of a cliff above us before turning around to get to an easy way to us.

I shove my Wanted poster into the satchel, watching them fearfully (yeah, I'll admit I'm a little scared, but come on, who wouldn't be), before turning around and running after the Stabbingtons.

We go a little ways before they stop suddenly. I nearly stumble into them. They part and I stop a few steps in front of them, and that's when I realize that in front of us is a cliff. Dang.

I pant. "All right, okay." I turn around. "Give me a boost, and I'll pull you up."

They look at each other for a moment. "Give us the satchel first," says Sideburns, holding out an expectant hand.

I give a fake gasp of surprise. "I just—I can't believe that after all we've been through together, you don't _trust_ me?" I give a look of hurt.

All right, yeah, I can be a little untrustworthy, but hey! I'm a thief!

They stare at me unblinkingly, silent— _mocking_ me. You can literally hear the crickets.

"Ouch," I say. I pull off the satchel and drop it into Sideburn's hand.

Soon enough, I am climbing them like a ladder, very sneakily doing a very sneaky something, stepping onto Sideburn's face before pulling myself onto the top of the cliff.

"Now help us up, pretty boy," Sideburns says sarcastically, holding out a hand.

Wow, thanks for the compliment. Oh, whoops, forgot about something—

"Sorry—" I say, a grin growing on my face, "my hands are full." I pull the very sneakily stolen satchel from behind my back, swinging it in front of them, a very cocky look on my face—naturally—before letting it lose and grabbing it and running off.

I barely hear Sideburns mutter, "What?" before yelling out clearly, "RIDEEEER!"

And now I'm running as fast as I possibly can, stumbling to not smash myself into a tree. The guards aren't close behind.

I think I can hear the captain yell out to his companions.

"Retrieve that satchel at any costs!"

"Yes, sir!"

And then—is that a horse's neigh?

And many other horses neighing back?

I dive under a fallen, moss-covered tree, coming up and looking over at the Guard briefly. Arrows have sunk into the trunk, where I was just a split second ago. Oh!—close one.

I'm slipping and sliding, nearly falling through the thick, slippery, hilly underbrush, jumping over a tree in a way only a master can do.

"We got him now, Maximus!" I hear the captain's gravelly voice say.

 _Neeeeeeigh!_

Okay, I'm really scared now. I suddenly get the _best_ idea ever—and so I promptly grab onto a vine hanging from an enormous tree, swing around the tree, knock the captain off, and land right on the horse. A little painful, but he broke my fall, so it could've been a _lot_ worse.

I smack the white horse with its reins, shouting, " _Yaa!_ " I've always wanted to do that. . . . "Aha!"

Suddenly, the horse stops very abruptly. Whoa. . . .

Its head turns around, its pupil becoming a bit smaller inside its copper-colored eyes.

Having fallen forward, I sit back up straight, grunting. "Ah. Come on, Fleabag. Forward."

The horse (Fleabag) gives me a look of pure disgust. Then it (and I) notices the satchel swinging from my hand.

It bites at it. What is up with this thing?

"No," I say to it—like it can understand me or something—or like it's some sort of misbehaving dog—which it sort of is.

It bites at the satchel again.

" _No_ ," I say more insistently, pushing its head to the side.

It starts running around, turning around, in the direction I was sort of going.

"No—stop it, stop—it!" I say.

Fleabag grabs onto the satchel. NO!

"Give it to me!—give—it!"

I rip it out of the beast's teeth. It flies away from us—and onto a thin branch on a tree that is literally hanging by its roots on the edge of the cliff.

I hesitate, before shoving Fleabag aside and leaping off of him, intent upon getting back my satchel. The horse runs over me (who has fallen), and now we're racing each other to the tree.

I grab its leg. It stumbles.

I run over it. It bites my foot.

It runs over _me_. I stand up quickly.

It walks daintily on the tree trunk. I jump on its head.

It shakes me off. I fall onto the opposite side of the trunk—and I am just barely holding on with my arms and legs.

I look over the side of the white trunk. It looks back determinedly.

And then it starts walking, trying to step on my hands (obviously), and I'm hurriedly sort of "crab-walking" along the underside of the trunk. The shaking is making the branch holding the satchel quiver, leaves fall.

I'm grunting and crab-walking, and then the satchel is falling—but I _catch it_.

I hold it out to Fleabag triumphantly. "Ha!"

Then I hear a crack.

Oh, no.

The tree trunk breaks in two, and then we're falling, Fleabag, me, and then rest of the tree, then we're falling, and I'm holding on for dear life, and then I see a rock protruding from the cliff. We exchange looks. The tree then breaks in half on the rock, and we're separated, and I'm yelling out in surprise, and everything is just really scary and really crazy like that for what seems like forever, and I'm definitely gonna die, and I wish I was able to say proper last words, but all I get to say is, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"


	6. Chapter 6: Finding My Way

**A/N: I'M BACK! Sorry I haven't posted a new chapter to this story in forever. Things got crazy. But anyways . . . here it is! Remember to review and tell me what you think! If you want to, at least. :P**

 **Enjoy!**

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CHAPTER SIX

FINDING MY WAY

 _Maddi_

I feel myself fall into a tangled—pun intended—heap onto something wet. I sit up and look around and let out a cry of surprise.

I am sitting on wet, very green grass in the middle of a forest. It's . . . weird. It's beautiful. It's weird because it's so beautifully familiar.

But how can that be possible? Because if I am right—which I sort of hope and sort of don't hope I'm not—I am in the middle of the forest in "Tangled."

The trees—the lighting—the freshness, beauty of everything—it's just so _that movie_. But how is this possible? It's . . . amazing. I guess I'll just sort of have to go with it.

But what does that note mean, going through the events of the movie? Does that mean that I have to find Rapunzel and Eugene and go through their journey with them? Wouldn't that drastically change the story? What if they don't end up falling in love if I'm there? But more importantly, how am I going to get anywhere, much less Rapunzel's tower? Yes, I know the movie, but it's not like I have photographic memory. My mind—and the movie, too—is not a map. Besides, this might not be the movie, anyway. . . . But it just looks so much _like_ it.

I take a deep breath. Okay. I'll figure this out. I'll find Rapunzel's tower. If right now is when I think it is, then Eugene and the Stabbington brothers should be in the middle of their crown heist. Maybe they'll pass me by and I can follow Eugene . . . which is when I realize something.

I am wearing a red T-shirt with the white words "I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up to No Good" on it, a pair of jean shorts that are a little bit above my knees on my rather thick (a.k.a. muscular) legs. And I have "Frozen" socks on. I don't think I'll be able to blend in very well at all. Oh, and my glasses aren't exactly "Tangled"-era style, though those are probably the least of my worries.

I sigh and rub my eyes. Okay. I stand up and look around before I hear a rustling. My breath catches in my throat. Maybe that's Eugene. . . .

I turn around, and out of the trees comes the maroon-clad form of Mother Gothel, basket in hand, extremely poofy black hair (with noticeable gray streaks in it), standing there, staring at me in shock.

I give a nervous little smile. "Hi. . . ." WHAT AM I DOING?! WHY AM I TALKING TO HER?! Okay, well, that's probably not the best move. But maybe I landed here at this exact moment in this exact place for some exact reason.

She stares at me, basket held close. "Who are you?" she says.

"Well . . ." I say uncertainly.

Gothel looks me up and down. "You aren't from here, are you? You aren't wearing anything."

I give a small, uncertain giggle. "Yeah, well . . . I'm not. Um . . . I'll just be on my way now, I suppose. . . ."

She gives me a suspicious look, narrowing her eyes. "All right . . . be on your way, then, girl." She turns around, her cloak swishing behind her, walking into the forest away from me.

Okay. So this isn't very good. But then again, maybe if I can follow her, I can find the tower, and get to Rapunzel. . . .

I start walking in the direction she'd gone in, trying not to make too much noise. This is not going well. As I walk, my socks fill up with water. I take them off and stick them in my pockets—which are actually already filed with a glasses cleaner cloth and stick of chap stick—I can't go anywhere without them, just in case I need them. Which I often do. I wonder what Zellie and Kat are doing right now . . . speaking of which . . . wait a sec.

I freeze, because something in my pockets is buzzing—which is when I remember that I have my phone sticking in there. I grab it, and as a matter of fact, someone is calling me—Kat.

"Kat?" I say, putting the phone up to my ear.

"Maddi!" I hear a familiar voice say. "Maddi, you're in the movie!"

"I—sort of know that," I say hesitantly. The realization strikes. "Wait, what?!"

"You're on the screen right now!" she exclaims. "You're just walking around—and you're on the phone!"

"Oh, my gosh . . ." I mutter. "This is crazy." I run my hand through my hair as best as I can while it is in two brown braids. Then I hear more rustling, and I have no time to think, because I see one person running past me. The streak of brown hair, blue shirt, brown bottoms, brown satchel—the unmistakable figure of Eugene Fitzherbert on the run from the royal guard of Corona (which is the kingdom "Tangled" takes place in, in case you didn't know, according to the internet and whatnot).

"Eugene!" I can't help but cry out. "Wait, how does this thing even work here?!"

"Maddi! Flynn just ran past you!" says Kat.

"It's Eugene, and yes, I know he did!" I exclaim. I start running after him, not hanging up for the fear that I might not be able to call her again.

As it turns out, he is quite a bit faster than me—especially since I've been eating junk all night and aren't exactly feeling very athletic at the moment. I stay to the left of him, since of course the royal guard is chasing after him. I end up being able to keep up with him, and then I realize (panting like crazy) that he, along with Maximus the horse, end up falling off an extremely high cliff (or so it seems that way, though the movie makers probably just made it seem very dramatic, according to my parents).

And then it's just Maximus the horse chasing after him. I know the cliff will come up soon, but I keep going. My lungs are burning. I do run at swim practice sometimes (at dryland), but never as fast as this. I am going to die. Or at least that's how I feel.

I'm starting to slow down. No! That's not good! I have to keep up with Eugene—I have to get to Rapunzel—

I suddenly stumble over a fallen tree and fall. I let out a cry. I hold my hands out in front of me to break my fall, and land, spitting my braids out of my face. Then my bare knees start to hurt. I slowly sit up on the tree and look at my stinging hands and knees. They're red. My knees are scraped up. They hurt like crazy—but I suppose I've had worse falls. I have one scar near my right elbow and two tiny ones by my left from when I fell down a HUGE road hill whilst riding an electric Razor scooter a couple of years ago. My back got all scraped up too, including the Harry Potter Hogwarts shirt I was wearing. I'd gotten it that previous Christmas. I had to get a new one. Luckily, I was wearing a helmet, or I would have probably—no, definitely—gotten really injured on my head. Anyways, enough of that. Back to now.

So I lost Eugene and Maximus. Shoot. Now what? Well, apparently I'm somewhere on the cliff. I wonder why Gothel was here, instead of underneath, where she could go through the vine curtain hanging from the rock that leads to the tower? Maybe she just figured out a way to go up and down the cliff. Anyways, maybe if I just follow the trail of broken foliage and such, I'll be able to find the path Eugene and Max went on. But how am I supposed to get down? Now I wish more than ever that I'd followed Gothel. . . .

I reflect how calm I am about this entire situation. Maybe I just really believe in magic. I guess it's all just come so simply, so obviously to me. Maybe I just simply . . . believe.

Enough of that. I need to find the tower, and a safe way to get down into the valley without falling a billion feet. I sit down and think. My knees hurt. My legs are sore. I stretch them until they aren't quite that way, and then stand up and start walking in the general direction that Eugene and Maximus were running in. After a while of stepping over leaves and twigs and through bright green grass, I see a broken tree hanging out over a valley. I carefully lean down and am surprised to see the bottom through all the fog. It's actually not that far down.

Then I see it. A hidden staircase, carved into the rock in a mountain beside me, leading steeply downward. My best shot at getting to the tower.

"All right," I mutter to myself. "Let's go." I walk over to the spiral staircase and eventually find myself entering a forest clearing. I look around and see the ivy hiding the opening in the cave. I walk through it and into the cave before entering the opening to the valley.

I've seen "Tangled" approximately one billion times before. I've always marveled at the magnificence of the valley where Rapunzel's tower sits, the beauty of the gurgling stream trickling past my feet, the dewy green grass, everything. But now it all seems even more magnificent—I am literally living this story.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I walk forward. After several steps I open them again and dip my feet into the stream and washing my knees off a bit before walking forward towards the tower. Nothing but the traveling water and the birds singing and the little critters and bugs crawling around interrupt this silence and beauty. Eugene must have been hit by the frying pan already.

My stomach drops. How is Rapunzel going to react to me? Will she hit me, too? And how am I going to get up there? Scratch that, I can use that tunnel Gothel uses to get through when Maximus appears in the forest. But I really haven't thought about any of this enough. . . .

But what choice do I have? The note said to go through the story, right? And to do that, I have to find Rapunzel and Eugene and go through their adventure with them . . . no matter what.

Because if I don't, I don't even have the slightest clue as to whether or not I'm going to get back home.


End file.
